Those low villains rendered a stay in Vienna very unpleasant to foreigners, and it was a matter of the greatest difficulty to gratify the slightest natural want without running the risk of being annoyed.  One day as I was standing close to the wall in a narrow street, I was much astonished at hearing myself rudely addressed by a scoundrel with a round wig, who told me that, if I did not go somewhere else to finish what I had begun, he would have me arrested!

“And why, if you please?”

“Because, on your left, there is a woman who can see you.”

I lifted up my head, and I saw on the fourth story, a woman who, with the telescope she had applied to her eye, could have told whether I was a Jew or a Christian.  I obeyed, laughing heartily, and related the adventure everywhere; but no one was astonished, because the same thing happened over and over again every day.

In order to study the manners and habits of the people, I took my meals in all sorts of places.  One day, having gone with Campioni to dine at “The Crawfish,” I found, to my great surprise, sitting at the table d’hote, that Pepe il Cadetto, whose acquaintance I had made at the time of my arrest in the Spanish army, and whom I had met afterwards in Venice and in Lyons, under the name of Don Joseph Marcati.  Campioni, who had been his partner in Lyons, embraced him, talked with him in private, and informed me that the man had resumed his real name, and that he was now called Count Afflisio.  He told me that after dinner there would be a faro bank in which I would have an interest, and he therefore requested me not to play.  I accepted the offer.  Afflisio won:  a captain of the name of Beccaxia threw the cards at his face—­a trifle to which the self-styled count was accustomed, and which did not elicit any remark from him.  When the game was over, we repaired to the coffee-room, where an officer of gentlemanly appearance, staring at me, began to smile, but not in an offensive manner.

“Sir,” I asked him, politely, “may I ask why you are laughing?”

“It makes me laugh to see that you do not recognize me.”

“I have some idea that I have seen you somewhere, but I could not say where or when I had that honour.”

“Nine years ago, by the orders of the Prince de Lobkowitz, I escorted you to the Gate of Rimini.”

“You are Baron Vais:” 

“Precisely.”

We embraced one another; he offered me his friendly services, promising to procure me all the pleasure he could in Vienna.  I accepted gratefully, and the same evening he presented me to a countess, at whose house I made the acquaintance of the Abbe Testagrossa, who was called Grosse-Tete by everybody.  He was minister of the Duke of Modem, and great at Court because he had negotiated the marriage of the arch-duke with Beatrice d’Este.  I also became acquainted there with the Count of Roquendorf and Count Sarotin, and with several noble young ladies who are called in Germany frauleins, and with a baroness who had led a pretty wild life, but who could yet captivate a man.  We had supper, and I was created baron.  It was in vain that I observed that I had no title whatever:  “You must be something,” I was told, “and you cannot be less than baron.  You must confess yourself to be at least that, if you wish to be received anywhere in Vienna.”